


Rat Poison and Cupcakes

by AuntyA



Series: Lost Boys [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntyA/pseuds/AuntyA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someday by Måns Zelmerlöw. Bucky finds himself listening to it on repeat and doesn't know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're like fire and gasoline.

Bucky was sitting, feet flat on the ground, knees up, leaning against the back tire of the blue car Steve had driven here in. His eyes were closed. Head back, left mechanical arm slack with his hand loose, right arm lightly resting on his knees his hand in a fist.

Steve was hanging out of the car door, legs splayed out, head down and staring at the grass under his feet.

They were sitting still and quiet, the air wreathed in thin tendrils of smoke. The antler shack was on fire.

Steve was breathing heavily and everything hurt but didn't think he was seriously injured. Buck had dragged half carried him out of the shack to the safety of the car. The shack would just burn down to the ground, nothing really around it but the gravel driveway.

Rahc was dead. Buck had seen to that. He had separated her head clean off her body with one swift knife stroke from behind. Her head was in the trunk of the car. He caught her unawares and then just like that. She was really dead this time. Steve doubted she had expected that ending.

Earlier, after a few hours of waiting with Rahc, he had been sitting with his eyes half closed. Waiting. Rahc had been talking at him but he wasn't interested in her stories of past 'accomplishments'. He guessed they were waiting for her colleague. The one who collected all the antlers. She was waiting for someone. He really really hoped it wasn't Chief.

Steve had barely heard the movement before he felt it. A razor sharp knife blade was suddenly pressed against the left side of his neck, held firm in a black-gloved cold hand, knuckles against his throat. Steve’s right arm was held tightly behind his back in a vice like grip.

Steve half turned back regardless, pushing hard against the grip, trying to get a glimpse of his attacker. The cabinet he was sitting on wasn’t actually against the wall of the shed. His assailant stood behind him. The metal box wobbled and some antlers toppled onto the floor but the hands held him firm.

A black shadow was behind him. A black shadow that was about the right size to be someone he recognized. He turned his face away from Rahc towards his attacker. “Buck” he hissed at him. “What’s going on?”

“Steve, I see you have found your little lost fawn.” Rahc had said from her antler throne.

The guy lifted Steve up from the top of the cabinet by his arm, knife still against his throat. Together they moved a couple steps away from Rahc and into a pool of light. The guy kicked the antlers away with a sweep of one foot and then dropped Steve.

Steve landed on his feet. He kicked back with one leg, connecting to a knee, staggering on the other to turn around. He punched the guy in the gut. Solid connection. He backed up shaking out his hand. Shit that guy was wearing body armour? No that had to be Buck.

The figure moved forward. It was Bucky. He knew it.

Bucky kicked out one foot. Crack, Steve felt his shin complaining. Crap. He landed hard. On his ass, on antlers. Pain bloomed in his elbow. They scrabbled around. Steve was getting in some good punches but Bucky was unstoppable. 

Steve was exhausted from the last 24 hours of his fucked up life and was losing the fight with the robot. Steve was blocking the knife pretty poorly but he wasn't getting stabbed.

Rahc was watching with a bemused look on her face. "Don't trip over the Widow, gentlemen."

Bucky kneeled on his chest in a flash. Steve noticed he was keeping Rahc in front of him. Bucky poked him in the sternum. "Buck you're killing me here." Steve held up a hand, trying not to groan from the weight. The knife had disappeared somewhere. Bucky leaned forward and slapped Steve’s face with his metal hand.

Steve stopped fighting back. "Okay, okay." He caught Bucky's flesh hand in both of his. "Just fucking stop man." Steve lay flat on the floor. Head on the ground.

Although Bucky had a zip tie in one hand, when he flipped Steve over he oddly didn't restrain his hands. The tie stayed on the ground. Steve left his hands behind his back. He was getting an idea of where this was going.

Rahc it turned out had the same stupid penchant for long descriptive explanations she droned on as cliched as any evil movie villains. 

"Natasha was never very grateful. This will perhaps teach her a lesson. Mr. Winter, tie her up and get ready for our trip to the drop off along with the Captain. I have an appointment.”

That was not happening on Steve's watch. He gave a quick look at Bucky. Bucky had his head down and was moving a hand towards his belt. Oh no. That means trouble. Steve sat up, jumped to his feet. He moved back a step and crouched down.

The grenade ended up under Rahc's chair but she wasn't sitting in it. When the eplosion had subsided, Rahc was standing on a cabinet across the room. Bucky had moved closer. She tossed the sherry bottle at Bucky, smashing against his chest, soaking his shirt and the front of his pants.

She snarled, "You'll burn too Mr. Winter. Please don't worry about that. I'll make sure of it."

She launched herself at him, that odd stick weapon clutched in her hand. She collided with Bucky, deciding Steve was no threat. Bucky somehow remained standing and shoved her away, blocking the baton with his left arm. The baton slid off, buzzing but no sparks.

"When I called you today I called my dog, Mr. Winter. Not an opponent." She slashed at his torso. She finally made contact on his chest. Sparks arced across the room. Bucky tensed and tucked his head down, curling in on himself.

Steve got up from the floor when her back was turned to him. He brought his arm down hard, holding a big antler like a club. She sidestepped the blow. "Too slow Captain." she hissed. But she had miscalculated in the small dark space. Bucky was behind her and his knife was already in motion across her throat.

+++++

Steve turned to look at Bucky sitting on the grass in his ruined clothes. "What do you think will happens when she doesn't show up for the drop off with Natasha?"

"They'll leave."

Steve contemplated this. “So what did you want to do about her?"

He took a drag on his smoke.

He had Natasha lying prone with his jacket under her head a couple of feet away from them and on the other side from the fire. He had tried to check her over after they got her out of the shack but he couldn’t find any injuries aside from the weird burn on her throat.

There was a dark deep bruise on her forehead but he thought she probably had been drugged. She was breathing regularly but lying so still. She had been unconscious during the drive out here but hadn't woken up during the interminable wait in the dark shack or during the fight. Not normal.

"Should we take her back into town with us? She needs a doctor.”

“Widow?” Bucky turned his head first towards Steve, then towards the trees. He flicked his chin up. “He’ll do it.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

An arrow sliced out of the trees and landed with a thunk between Steve’s feet in the dirt.

“I see.” said Steve slowly. “I guess it’s a good thing Clint’s not dead either unless there is some other psycho with a bow hanging around.”

He reached around to stub out his cigarette in the car ashtray. A pointless action while they were sitting next to a building engulfed in flames but whatever, don't over think it buddy. He thought to himself.

He got to his feet a bit shakily, wedging himself out of the car. He bent down and pulled the arrow out of the ground with his good hand. He shook it at the woods. “Where is he? I can’t see him at all.”

Buck nodded again at the trees. Steve shouted at the brush, “We’re going back into town. She’s stable. I won’t touch her again unless you want me to. I’m sorry Clint. I think she’s going to be fine though. Rahc seems to have drugged her with something but it’s not fatal or it would have killed her already.”

“Did you want a lift back with her in the car?” He called out loudly, not expecting an answer. He tossed the arrow back down to the grass. “Rahc is dead.” He didn’t get an answer.

+++++

They were on the road. Bucky raised his left hand, poked Steve in his bad hand on the steering wheel. Steve looked over, "What?" Bucky made a motion with his hand. Steve held his hand out flat. Bucky dropped a set of keys into Steve’s right palm.

Steve stared at the keys in his hand. “What the hell. Where did you get these?”

“Looked like bike keys. Yours.”

Steve didn’t ask why Bucky was going through a corpse’s belongings, or why he was following him, or how he knew Steve had traded the bike away to Nhung in the first place. He just took the keys.  Flipped them once and threw them in the console. His jacket was back with Natasha, he had no pockets.

“Hmm.” Steve actually didn't have anything to say.

“It's at the liquor store.”

"Okay then. I can pick it up on our way back if you can drive this car."

Bucky just stared ahead.

"Okay then. I can arrange something then to get it towed or something...." Steve trailed off. After the fight in the antler shack he was enveloped in exhaustion. He was weary of the endless betrayal. But he wouldn't mind getting that bike back.

Steve sucked his breath in through his teeth. “What are you going to do now? Chaika still wants you.” He cranked down the car window to get some air.

“No. I’m replaced.”

“What?”

“A new soldier.”

“How do you know this?

“I can show you.”

Bucky fished a file out from between the car seats. A crumpled paper fell out, Steve grabbed with his bad hand. He smoothed it out on the steering wheel while he waited for Buck to finish looking in the file.

The paper was a shopping list, in what he imagined was Rahc’s spiky angry handwriting. Two words caught his eye:  ‘cupcakes’ and ‘rat poison.' What a fucking psycho. He dropped the paper back on the car floor and stared at the road ahead.

Bucky held up a photo of a young man in a professional portfolio pose. He looked like an athlete, with light piercing eyes and wavy hair. He had tattoos of faces on his shoulders, with one large dark shape covering the back of his right hand.

“Who is he? He looks like a teenager.”

“Ukranian.”

Steve thought about this while they drove back to Edmonton to pick up their gear and do some planning. “You know the guy?”

“Born in Kherson. They took him in 2012. In London. Ballet dancer.”

“You hear about this before today?”

“Yes. After the problem with you on the aircraft.”

“And you were AWOL so they replaced you.”

“Before.”

“Chaika know about this one?”

“Didn’t care. He wanted the arm. New soldier is whole to date.”

"Those Russians have a one track mind."

"Don't know why." Bucky paused then added, "Never knew."

Steve drove for a while thinking about that. “Buck. I need a nap. Can you use my phone to find a motel or something?”

Bucky took the phone, bent his head down and began to check for hotel information.

Steve tapped his eight fingers on the steering wheel, “And you ever gonna tell me about the time travel?”

“No. Don't remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second Winter Soldier, can you guess who? [Sergei Polunin of course.](http://tinyurl.com/ohnredr)


	2. In the final movie scene.

Bucky had brought Rahc's head in the disgusting bag to his contact at the downtown mid-rise apartment building. Steve stayed in the car, seat back with his eyes closed and the window down. He didn’t want to be in an elevator with that particular delivery.

Rahc’s shitbox car had only a radio, so he found a station playing a funky modern tune. Lots of woo and hallelujah. Good old uptown.

The residential street he was parked on was quiet but he could hear kids laughing and squeaking on their way home from school mid-afternoon. He was drifting off when the passenger car door opened abruptly.

Steve sat up startled "Say what?"

He caught Bucky looking at him quizzically and he smiled a little to himself. He shifted his seat up.

Bucky stuck his head in the car and said, “Exchange completed.”

"Okay then. Next stop hotel with beds please."

Bucky threw something a bit bigger than a shoebox at him as he got in the car. Steve caught the heavy box with difficulty. Steve cracked the lid on the box. It was solidly filled with weird banded stacks of brown plastic bills.

"This thing full of real money?"

"Hundreds. Why don’t you know?”

"Widow handled most of our cash. And it seems that everyone here uses twenties or cards nowadays for everything. Twenties here are at least green. Like real money."

"700,000 dollars. 7 kilos."

Steve looked quickly at Bucky but his face remained impassive. To Steve's tired mind that struck him as a joke but he gave his head a shake and then awkwardly slid the box into the back seat with both hands.

“That was the bounty on her?”

“Fifteen percent.”

Steve’s eyebrows raised. "Yikes. 4.6 million. Someone had deep pockets. So you were a sub-contractor.”

“Yes. Open contract. Kaufman held the signature.” Bucky jerked his thumb back to the apartment building.

“Who’s Kaufman?”

“Guy who hated Rahc. Shit to work for.”

“How did you arrange this if you only escaped from Rahc, like 3 days ago?”

“I know a guy.”

“Okay then." 

Steve handed Bucky his phone. "Buck. Hotel. Motel. Campground. Something. Anywhere with a bed and a shower in a 15 mile radius. I’m driving.”

+++++

Steve woke up in a soft clean motel bed. Nothing moving, exploding or on fire.

He groaned and sat up. The room was quiet and empty.  He ran his hands through his hair and squeezed his temples with his index fingers. No Buck to be seen.

He had fallen asleep in his clothes. He stood up and moving his shield to the floor, he started to rifle through his bag of clothes they picked up from Natasha's safe house. He had the codes for the garage so they had stopped there on the way here.  There was no sign of Natasha or anyone in the house. He hoped she was okay. He guessed he'd find out when she came after them in the future.

His mind began to get into gear. Shit. Shower. Shave. Then find Buck. Probably eating downstairs. Or exchanging those slippery hundreds into lower denomination bills. Or killing someone.

Steve flicked on the bathroom light and swore. Buck had left his clothes from yesterday hanging in the shower. There was a puddle of congealing blood and water pooling around the shower drain. Fuck. Endless.

As he stripped off, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He had deep dark stripes of bruising across his back and stomach. He could almost see the handprints on his throat in the scrapes. He could see the fingerprints on his cheekbone. The stab wound in his thigh was still there from the day before.

He turned away from the mirror, back to the gory shower. Didn’t need to see that. He moved the dripping mess first to the back of the door but then changed his mind and just tossed them on a towel on the floor. They had other clothes.

Just another day in the life. Shit.

+++++

He walked into the restaurant next to the motel looking for Bucky. He waved off the hostess at the front and walked back into the open section.

Bucky, completely dressed in black, long sleeves and a glove hiding the arm, was sitting at one end of a ‘family style’ long table. A family of five sat at the other end. Couple of empty chairs between them.

The mom was shamelessly staring at Bucky over her coffee cup with a predatory look. The dad was wrangling kids. They looked like they were already finished.

Bucky was eating chicken wings. He would put a wing in his mouth and take out a clean bone. He had a huge pile of wings still to go in front of him.

He had already made a good size stack of wing bones in a neat pattern on the plate. Almost a little log cabin’s worth of bones. The sad carrot and celery had been discarded over to the side.

“You ever sleep man? What’s for lunch?”

Bucky paused long enough to answer, “No. Chicken.”

Steve put his phone on the table and sat down across from Buck.

“So. Coffee for you sir?” The waitress was right behind him. Steve nodded.

“Your friend is working on the all you can eat wings.” She handed him a menu.

Bucky stopped eating. 

“You need coffee too Sugar?” The waitress paused before turning away.

“Beer. Draft.” Bucky asked almost hopefully.

“Sure thing.” She wandered off back to the bar.

Steve didn’t really want anything to eat. His mouth tasted like the ashes of the antler shack and he could still smell the copper tang of blood in the shower.

Buck used to call him a pussy about his squeamishness. He could kill someone no problem, but it haunted him a bit afterwards. It always had. He personally felt it should.

Steve straightened up in his chair, shifting his sore leg, looking at Bucky, “So, I think we need to go to her office.”

Bucky had started on his lunch again. He paused mid-wing to look at Steve.

Steve shot a glance at the other end of the table. The family was herding the kids to the counter to pay. The mom was still ogling Buck as they left.

Steve continued, “I think we need more cash, although your ‘percentage’ is substantial it’s your money. I need some for myself.”

“Yours. Your fee.”

“There was no fee involved in getting you up here. Forget that. Rahc fucking tortured you before I could get you out and then you got yourself out without me.”

Steve was getting angry, “And now I have to fix this. We’re still nowhere. Buck, I have to have cash some of my own too.”

“Weapons.”

Steve answered him, “Exactly. I need to see if she has any blanks documents for ID, weapons, ammo, anything. I need a drivers license and some travel docs to match it. You do too.”

Steve turned his phone to show Bucky the map, “Here's the prison. Here’s us here. We still have her car. I think we can get into her office. Apparently the place is busted wide open but the fire department isn't finished with it yet.”

“Inspectors.”

“You know me so well! Let’s go over there and investigate.” 

Steve slid the paper he had picked up at the front desk over to Bucky and tapped an index finger on an article.

"Buck, check this out. 'A 64 year-old man, Randolph Falsworth made an appearance in an Edmonton courtroom today after police charged him with crimes connected with the fire that destroyed the administration wing of the CFSPDB Edmonton Institution on located on the Canadian Army Base on Ordnance Road.'”

Steve chuckled, "I think that's Chief, his real name I guess is Randy."

Bucky nodded and for a flash he smiled. "Should have killed him."

The waitress came back with Steve’s coffee and the draft beer glass.

“There you go guys. You looking for work around here?”

Steve thought fast. “On our way to Fort McMoney.” He had heard Chief talking to someone about some action in Fort McMurray. Sounded as good as any cover story.

“Let me or Crystal know if you need anything else, I’m going off shift soon so here's the cheque.” She winked at Bucky and went back to the counter.

Steve flipped over the bill, she had written her name and phone number on the back.

“Shit you are smooth man. Must be the ponytail. You're a good looking guy with your hair up. You gonna go on a date? Might help to loosen you up."

"No." Bucky methodically ate his wings. When he came up for air he said, “Plan.”

Steve put his coffee down. “Check her office. Take what we need and then not sure. You have anything you need to work on?”

Bucky didn’t respond.

Steve continued, “I was thinking about a road trip. If you’re free that is.” He took another sip. “And I really hate that car. I need a new vehicle before we leave here. But I have to ask a question Buck. Can you really not drive any more?”

Bucky sipped his beer and then said, “No.”

Steve sighed, “Okay then.”

“I can get you a vehicle. I know a guy.”

Steve laughed. “I bet you do.”

+++++

Steve had come back from dealing with his bike and found the room door locked. His card didn’t open it. “Buck, open the door man, chain’s on.” He knocked and waited.

“Soon.” Bucky’s muffled voice came through the door.

"Who wants to talk in the hall? Open the door Buck."

Nothing. He pounded on the door once more. “Buck.”

Shit. He’d just have to wait. He turned to the railing of the walkway in front of their room and got out a smoke. He stood there smoking and checking his phone. He was working out the details with Chaika for a meet after the trip to Rahc’s office.

The door opened a bit and a woman slipped out holding her purse and car keys with a sheepish look on her face. Steve nodded at her and said ‘Ma’am.” He got a better look at her. It was the restaurant waitress.

“Have a great night.” He said to her back as she walked down the stairs to the parking lot. He flicked his cigarette over the railing and turned back to the room.

He pushed open the door. Bucky was sitting on one of the made up bed in black cargo pants and no shirt, hair loose. His scarred chest looked pale next to the silver arm.

Steve waved his phone at him, “Hey you sly dog. I didn't know you had a cell, text me your number.”

Bucky answered sulkily, “No phone.”

“Okay then.” Steve was grinning. “Guess she likes robots and just followed you home. What story did you tell her happened to you? Or maybe she just didn’t notice ‘cause she was busy?”

Bucky sat stoically looking at Steve.

“Okay, moving right along here. Let’s go get some cash from Rahc.” Steve put his phone back in his pocket and took out the car keys.

“And Buck, I need you to find me a new car. This one we’re driving smells like blood.”

+++++

"So Rahc was laundering money as well as every other crime under the sun she was committing?

Bucky turned back to Steve with a couple of envelopes full of bills in his hand pointing at an open file drawer.

"Credit cards." Bucky pulled out a ziploc bag of credit cards from the desk.

"And here are the money transfers." Steve shuffled through a stack of Western Union receipts he had in front of him. "Belgrade. Santiago. Cotonou. Sofia. Nassau. Kiev. London. Rheims, Dubai. It looks like a great setup. This is a shit ton of cash she was shifting. Nothing over five thousand. Transactions every day for a couple of years."

They were standing in Rahc’s ruined office sorting through files. Looking for anything they could use to get out of Edmonton.

“Cash.” Bucky moved a box completely filled with Euros.

Steve looked at his hands. Some bruises. He idly wondered why the slight swelling on his knuckles wasn't reducing. That last fight had been yesterday, plenty of time for him to heal.

“Weapons.” Bucky sounded a bit happier. He started tossing knives into the duffle bag next to the cash and cards.

Steve rubbed at the knuckles on his right hand.

“Drugs.” Bucky held up a handful of ziplocs filled with pills. He looked at them thoughtfully and then chucked them in the bag.

Steve cleared his throat, "You know Buck, I'm sorry I left you with her in the first place. I really thought more people would come after us and I needed to work out my approach first. I thought you were going to die. I just didn't know." Steve looked abjectly at the floor.

Bucky turned full towards him unblinkingly. "Never apologize. Never explain."

"You know I saw that on a tshirt recently." Steve tried to smile.

"Myself also."

Steve changed the subject, “How come the cops didn't take all this stuff yet?”

Bucky was snapping a lock off a gun locker with his left hand. He checked the pistols, leaving a burned one on the floor, the rest went into the bag.

“Fire Chief not done.”

Steve waved some papers, “Here let’s take these, I think they’re passport blanks. Maybe you know a guy who can fix us up?”

Bucky just looked at him.

Steve laughed, tossed the papers in the bag and dusted his hands off on his pants.

+++++

Buck walked over to the lights carrying the duffle bag. The pigeons scattered, wheeling across the intersection, flapping wildly.

They walked together to the bus stop to wait. Steve was still limping from the stab wound in his thigh.

"Can't really go to a bank with all this stuff we got from Rahc’s office and I don't have a lot of experience with a life of crime."

"Chaika will do it. As a favour."

"You trust him? Well I guess I do. He repaired the arm so that was helpful. He wasn't a dick to me yet. What do you want to give him for it? Percentage? Flat fee? Portion?”

Bucky shook his head, “Trust only. No cash yet.”

“Good to know. Interesting approach but sure. Certainly cheaper.”

"Border problem."

"That's true. The border is certainly going to be a problem for us, for me, especially for you. Let’s do some work here first, I’m kinda working on an idea."

Bucky nodded.

"After that you want to leave here and go where? I've only had the one job in DC since I, well, defrosted.” Steve grimaced. “I wouldn't call this last stretch exactly a vacation but I guess I need to find work." He fumbled around in his pockets for cigarettes and a lighter.

"Steve."

Steve jerked his head around. Buck never called him by his name.

"Glasgow. Have to meet a woman."

He thought about his answer before he gave it, "Really? So you owe her or she owes you?"

"Owes me."

"This conversation reminds me of the ending of the ‘Maltese Falcon’. The Fat Man, Gutman, starting the chase all over again."

"Saw that movie."

“That was a long time ago but it was a damn good movie.” Steve put away his lighter, “Here comes the bus, no time for a smoke.”

+++++

Everyone on the bus was on cell phones. Every passenger was completely oblivious. No word of a lie, every single person on that bus, including the driver, had on earphones.

Bucky opened the top window near where they were standing.

“Chaika said no vehicles for this meet. Sorry.”

“Need air.” Bucky was looking a little pale.

Steve hung onto the pole, half blocking Bucky from the view of rest of the bus. “I think we’re getting off soon. Jasper and 105th.”

“Credo Coffee?”

Steve checked his phone as Bucky steadied himself and the dufflebag. “You already found a coffee place? You certainly get around my friend.”

Steve nodded at his phone, “It looks like we’re actually meeting in yet another parking lot. Don’t think these people ever meet up inside a building first. Maybe we can get him to move to your café when we are done talking.”


	3. You’re the beauty, I’m the beast.

Steve was normally the talker. Bucky had certainly done his fair share, actually more than his fair share, of listening. Steve droning on endlessly, prattling away, reading bits from the paper, making jokes about this and that, and singing arbitrary song lyrics along with the radio.

Steve tended to fill any silence that occurred, peppering Buck with questions and gently worded commands as if he was a lost four-year-old or a puppy.

But this time Bucky had tried to say a lot of things to Steve while they had been working together here.

They had the beginnings of the negotiation of valid travel documents started.

Bucky had agreed to do the substantial work required to be able to fly in a commercial aircraft but Steve seemed to be delaying a departure from Canada. Lot of moving parts for that plan. Steve needed to be fully on board.

Steve had asked him take the public transit to the meeting with the technician and he had agreed to accompany him although it left them both completely unguarded.

Bucky had agreed to go along Steve’s half-baked plan that the technician would hold a portion of the currency and currency equivalents although that would end badly. See his last point.

Earlier today he had beaten the technician into unconsciousness, disassembled the tracking system hidden in his technological devices, and taken the satellite communication equipment and any weapons the technician had on his person.

Of course, the technician was attempting to play the ends off the middle by selling them out, once again. Attempting again to command and control the arm technology. The arm currently attached to him. Steve didn't see this for what it was.

Bucky had tried to give his cash percentage fee from the killing for hire to Steve, to increase the mission funds, but he had seemed offended by the offer. And then Steve had engaged in high risk behavior to augment their funds. Which didn't need an increase.

Steve wasn’t fully listening to what Bucky was saying.  Or maybe Steve was getting ready to disengage the relationship. Perhaps Bucky was becoming a risk that Steve wasn't willing to take.

In order to salvage the work at this point in time, Bucky thought he might have to have a serious talk with Steve.

+++++

Steve had hated the vehicle they had been using since the shack.  Rahc’s persona seemed to have permeated it for him.

Steve would be irritated and anxious in it while driving. He swore at other drivers with the window down and performed irrational driving patterns in traffic. How could that not be a substantial signifier of abnormal behaviours stemming from distress.

Most importantly, the vehicle had no auxiliary connection for the digital music player Steve had on his phone. Bucky couldn't give a shit about it but Steve appeared to use music to keep himself engaged and effective.

Bucky had arranged for a new vehicle for Steve, an unlovely but serviceable refrigerated work van with a lockbox inside the cold compartment. He could transport the weapons, cash and identification supplies he wasn't interested in leaving in the unsecured motel room.

Bucky wasn’t carrying his normal full complement of weapons yet so he needed somewhere to stash the rest. Steve had started to take his shield in the vehicle with them again. They had equipment now.

Steve had them both wearing armoured duty vests. The weather was staring to get chilly so they could get away with the comforting bulk.

They had shotguns in the truck cab. Bucky had stashed some extra special items on his side. He felt good. Prepared. Ready.

Steve had his phone on the dash. This truck had an aux connection to the speakers so while they were driving they listened to Steve's completely random mixture of anime theme songs, funk, hip hop and R&B. Steve adored the shuffle function. Bucky mostly tuned it out. Almost replicating the easy team work environment he had a vague memory of. Almost, normal work behaviour for them. Whatever that meant.

Steve had mentioned they should paint over the graffiti on the truck to make it look like an ice cream truck. Steve had read an article on the internet about food trucks, and thought  they could make a bit of extra cash from selling popsicles made of booze to drunk hipsters downtown. Bucky demurred although “Chill with the Capsicle” was certainly a catchy phrase.

Bucky was impressed by the soundproofed qualities of the refrigerated cargo area of the truck. Bucky and the technician had tried it out earlier that day while Steve took the truck for a test drive.

Steve hadn't heard a thing while Bucky was relieving his own small anxieties with a good solid spar with an opponent. With added knives.

Bucky had considered leaving the technician in there ‘on ice’ so to speak but instead Steve had asked that the unconscious body was dumped back in the parking lot they had met him in.

Steve even called the EMS from the phone in the cafe. Bucky worried that Steve was unhappy with unmitigated outcomes. Unnecessary loose ends tended to make everyone nervous at some point. With good reason. But that certainly didn't warrant any care spent on the current condition of the technician.

+++++

Back in the truck from dumping the technician, Bucky knew Steve was disappointed in him as soon as he slammed his door and sat back down in the passenger seat.

Disappointment rolled off Steve in waves. Frustration and irritation written all over Steve’s face. In his sulky thinly pressed together lips as he drove to the next meeting place.

The irritated set of his shoulders. The way he was smoking fast and exhaling smoke trails absently out the truck window. And how he was flicking the index finger and thumb together with his maimed hand as he loosely held the steering wheel.

Bucky was compiling a list.

Steve was irritated when he was locked out because of the woman.

Steve was disappointed that Bucky refused to drive.

Steve was annoyed that Bucky had beaten and rolled the technician.

Steve was disappointed that Bucky had not been able to save the Widow from grievous harm.

Steve was worried that Bucky would be so completely problematic to move out of North America.

Steve was anxious that Bucky had no connectivity using normal available commercial channels.

Steve was disappointed in the joint accommodation and would require them to separate due to Bucky's organizational habits or lack thereof.

And Steve would be very disappointed when he figured out that Bucky was selling the pharmaceuticals they got from Rahc's office. He was also taking a number of them on a daily basis.

Bucky couldn’t really keep up with all the things that Steve disapproved of it seemed.

Bucky had to answer the wall of disapproval. Now that they were idling in the truck, waiting for the finalized identification connection, it seemed like an opportune time.

“Steve.”

Steve turned and cocked an eyebrow. "Hey."

Bucky launched into it,.“Are you aware that I speak eleven languages fluently as well as I am able to get along in perhaps five more, especially in English which is considered my mother tongue?”

Steve began stuttering. Bucky cut him off, “Just because I am silent does not mean I am unable to speak.”

“I am aware that you feel I am limited in the assistance that I can provide to you. I apologize.”

Steve closed his mouth with a snap. It had been hanging open during this speech.

Bucky continued, “I understand that you feel the arm technology and past conditioning has conspired to make me non-human and a continued threat. I also understand that you find this use of hybrid human technology distasteful.”

“I also understand that you were offended by my actions yesterday with the woman and again I am sorry that you were unable to access your belongings in the motel room and that I delayed the mission with my baser needs.”

"I also understand that I have failed you repeatedly since we rejoined as a team."

Steve turned to him with a stern look on his face, pointing his finger, angry. “Fuck you man. You do this again and again and I just." He broke off, looked down and then began over again,  "I just don't know if I can make this work anymore. Asshole, you aren't a princess in case you haven't noticed."

He flicked his cigarette out the truck window. "Buck, you know, it pains me to say this but I have to at this point, you are completely and absolutely fucking...” he paused for effect.

“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.”

Steve cracked up. Bucky sat very still in the passenger seat. “But I am not fully human and you find this to be a mission issue, do you not?”

Once Steve caught his breath again he grinned at Bucky. “That is some speech Buck. Take you all day to write it in your head? You have index cards stashed somewhere?"

  
Steve turned his hand and waved it, "You are an asshole, you know that? You are the best team member I have ever had in my completely fucked up life. Why do you think I’m still here? You.”

Bucky said, “Not going to talk for a while.” And he stared straight ahead.

Steve was sniggering. “You are the absolute worst at reading people. You should just give it up. Not one thing you just said is true. Nothing. You seriously think I am pissed at you because of the arm?”

Steve snorted, “Or maybe because you are the world’s greatest fixer? Oh solve all my problems in an hour. Cash? Guns? Cars? Man you are the best. Why would you think that you are a problem?”

Steve held his eyes, he jabbed his thumb in his chest. “I’m fucked up and mangled. Frozen, defrosted, serumed freak show, with a bum right hand. Jesus Buck.”

Bucky turned his head and stared out the windshield.

Steve laughed again. “And you think I was mad about the waitress? You’re an idiot. I’m fucking lonely man. Lone-leee” He drew out the syllables in the word.

“I have no fucking clue what to do with these modern women. I've heard little children say things in public that would've gotten a grown-ass man slapped and then excommunicated. Jesus. Don't even get me started on television." He was waving both hands around now.

"And you’re getting the gals without even trying with that hipster scowl and ponytail. And no phone! Unheard of. You just can’t do anything wrong in my book." Steve tapped the steering wheel with his three fingered hand.

"Buck, shit man, you need to teach me that crazy chicken wing technique that sends them straight into your arms.”

He snorted again, “Sorry pal, I misspoke there.  Make that, sends them straight into your arm.”

He stifled a giggle. “You are seriously the shit at reading people’s emotions and body language. Don’t give up your day job Sherlock.”

Bucky turned his head away from Steve completely to look out the side window. He told himself it was not embarrassment. Steve could just look at the back of his fucking head.

Steve just wouldn’t stop. “Buck, please, just promise me that you will just go on the premise that everyone but me is mad at you and wants to kill you. Then you’ll do fine. I'm sure of it.”

He needed to see if the contact was coming. He needed to look away from Steve still sniggering away next to him.

“Are we good now Buck?” Steve had stopped laughing. “Now that you know that I can't do this without you? Buck, you’re the only one left who knew me from before. In the old days. And I just can't do it here, do it now, without you.”

Bucky wouldn’t turn his head. He said, “Here comes your guy about the passports.”

 


	4. And we’ve made enough mistakes

Steve was sitting on the edge of an uncomfortable looking modern lobby chair under a large coat of arms on the wall. The words ‘Court Martial Appeals Court of Canada’ in brass letters under the shield.

Steve was writing in his little red book. He looked a little nervous if you knew what to look for.  He was also wearing a suit.

Bucky didn't think he was acting, Steve did look pretty guilty right now. The building was making Steve nervous. Once a soldier always a soldier.

They were waiting for someone to come down as a security escort up to the secure floor on the 6th. Bucky’s contact for the identification needed to fly or cross an international border was somehow on that floor. Steve had ID problems too but not entirely the same as he did. They both needed new birthdays. Bucky also wanted to discuss a plan he had in mind to make his exit easier. He’d just need a little assistance with the details.

His eyes wandered to the Starbucks in the building lobby jammed with lawyers, suits and women in power heels. Court needed caffeine it seemed. Bucky was gripping his coffee in his right hand.  His gloved left was resting on the handle of a rolling bag. A black velvet bag was sitting on top of the briefcase.

He thought they both fit their parts wonderfully. He was wearing a tight black jacket with buttons, black pants and a white winged collar shirt with white tabs. He liked a uniform. And Steve in a dark suit looking nervous completed the picture.

Legal counsel and client. He had explained the plan to Steve and Steve had initially refused. He didn’t even want to pretend that he was being court martialed. That opinion had confused Bucky for a bit but he persevered. Steve was apparently completely in denial that he actually in the eyes of the world was a criminal and no longer a soldier.

Regardless, Steve didn’t get to have his way. Counsel didn’t get searched on the way in so someone needed to be the lawyer. They had a briefcase sitting in front of them in a secure building. A briefcase completely stuffed full of currency and drugs to pay their contact.

Steve tucked his little red book back into his inside jacket pocket. Bucky had actually read the little book, in fact, the first day he had found Steve he had completely searched all of his belongings and his technology. Completely.

The notebook was one part teenage angst-y diary and one part heartrending therapy journal but the largest part was filled with meticulous plans in a simple sort of code for all the events leading up to this point. There was a sorrowful tone to his reporting. Every recent error, negative outcome, doubt and mission misstep documented in perfect handwriting. Buck wondered idly if that was healthy.

Steve looked up at Bucky and then past him. Bucky turned. A blue uniformed man stood in front of them and showed his laminated official looking ID. He said in a low voice to Steve, “Let’s go warrant officer.” He nodded to Bucky. “Counsel.”

“You have an appointment with Colonel Pitre upstairs at eleven hundred hours. Thank you for being here on time.”

“No problem,” Bucky paused almost imperceptibly to check the uniform’s stripes. “Captain.” Bucky looked to Steve and they both stood to follow the guy over to the elevators.

+++++

They stood silently in the elevators. Cameras in the corner and people getting in and out meant it wasn’t safe to speak. Steve also wasn’t sure if the Captain was in on it or just an actual escort.

He knew it was play-acting but court martialed. Shit. Well that was a first. Buck hadn't offered more than an overview of the plan so to speak. They were winging it.

Steve only knew they had to get to the 6th floor, meet a guy names Colonel Pitre and then they’d be leaving with identification papers, a plan for getting Buck out of Canada and a bit lighter in the cash department. They just had to make it to the appointment without getting caught. Leaving would be easy.

“Sixième étage. Elevator going up. Sixth Floor.” So the elevator spoke French. Their group of three moved to the front and walked out of the elevator. The uniform turned left and greeted a military policeman.

Steve hoped that his general embarrassed unease would cover his guilty nerves. They stood for a moment. Bucky was like ice. He tapped his foot and crossed his arms impatiently.

The Captain used his ID badge to enter, waving it over the pad in the wall. A green light shone and he walked through.

The MP stepped back from the entrance and waving her hand asked Steve “Are you counsel?” Steve shook his head. She requested “Veuillez placer vos articles dans le bac M’sieur. Place your items in the bin please Sir.”

Steve threw his phone and keys in the basket. Then he stood with his arms out to be wanded. He hated having his right hand out but there wasn’t anyone to see it.

“Sir just a few things to let you know. Please don’t use your cell in the hallways when court is in session. Your cell will need to be off or on silent in the courtrooms and offices. Merci. Thank you.”

The Captain was waiting impassively on the other side of the barrier. Steve picked up his stuff from the bin and walked through the gate.

Bucky started to walk through.

“Pardonnez -moi, monsieur. Veuillez placer vos articles dans le bac.” The MP held out her hands and moved physically in front of Bucky blocking his way.

Bucky froze but then began to empty his pockets. Keys. A pen. Steve’s red notebook.

The hell? Steve patted his pocket. Of course he found nothing. Since when did Buck do magic tricks? He guess it was in the elevator.

Bucky began to move again to the gate. The MP held out a wand to block his way and said “Sir. Agissez-vous comme un avocat aujourd'hui? Are you acting as counsel today?”

Bucky said “Oui bien sûr.” Bucky handed over a government ID card that Steve had made this morning. Department of National Defence. Nice photo of him serious with his hair slicked back. Maple leaves in the watermark. Thank you Google.

“Merci M’sieur Buchanan. Attendez, please leave your bag and stand with your arms outstretched.”  
  
Steve wasn't sure this was going to go well. The giant hunk of metal that was Buck’s left arm would set that scanner off like fireworks regardless of what crazy space age alloys it was made of.

Bucky didn’t react, but the uniform and Steve both took a step forward. Ok then. Obviously the guy was a ringer if he also knew about the arm, Steve figured. Let’s see how Buck was going to get himself out of this one. Steve wasn’t carrying, and the bag with the extra sidearm and knives was on the other side of the barrier with Buck. Let’s not have a fight here. Steve held his breath a bit.

Bucky asked the MP to wait, “Excusez- moi, je dois une forme d'exclusion médicale ici.“ and handed the woman a folded paper. “Je dois vaste programme de reconstruction dans mon bras gauche . Pins et autres pièces métalliques.” He bent his left arm at the elbow stiffly and turned his wrist awkwardly as if the arm was flesh but had been injured.

So that was what Buck had been working on in the hotel room with the laptop. Nice tactic.

The MP put the paper into a scanner on the table and then handed the medical certificate back to him. She indicated that he should stand with his arms out. She wanded him and unsurprisingly the scanner went apeshit.

The MP then pulled up the sleeve of Bucky’s black jacket a bit. Metal shone between the glove and the sleeve. She touched the metal and then flicked it with her finger.

Bucky said sharply, “Cela était nécessaire?” She held her hands up, palms towards him, “Désolé, je suis désolé M’sieur.” She stepped back to let him collect his items from the bin and get his bag. He walked purposefully through the barrier.

+++++

The fake captain who had escorted them upstairs was sitting in a reception area outside the office they were currently locked in. Steve had last seen him sprawled on a sofa reading some martial arts magazine, his uniform jacket hanging off a chair in front of him. The guy was in an undershirt, holster under each arm, and with a coffee in hand. He had said his name was Reynard. This seemed a familiar set up for a double cross.

Buck and Steve were in a lush backroom office with the contact, separated from the rest of the office by a solid metal door, currently locked with a deadbolt, and with a metal bar between the door and the floor seated in a metal plate. There was a video screen showing the outer office the fake captain was lounging in.

Their contact had greeted them at the door, “Greetings gentlemen. Thank you for being prompt with your appointment. My name for this meeting is Colonel Pitre.” Middle aged South Asian, East Asian, Steve didn’t know how to describe her these days.

She looked like an Indian to him but what did he know. He settled on Canadian lady in his mind. She wasn’t wearing a military uniform, just dressed in office casual. Nothing memorable. She was somehow imminently forgettable. He guessed that was on purpose.

“Let me take that briefcase Mr. Barnes, you can safely change out of that costume now. Mr. Rogers please come in also.”

Bucky had stripped off his lawyer clothes and changed into his regular cargo pants and a long sleeved t-shirt. Bucky and Steve had both rearmed from the bag after Reynard had assured them that no-one was searched on the way out.

Colonel Pitre had glanced in the bag and then handed it off to Reynard who disappeared back into the outer office with it.

Reynard nodded to Steve, “One of you’ll need to initial the payment contents. Here’s the itemized list.” He grinned at Steve and offered a printed list Bucky said, “Steve.”

“Sure thing Buck.”  Steve felt weird initialing next to line items like ‘$637,000 in Canadian Funds’ and ‘90 x 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine tablets’ but they needed the documents.

It was a fascinating setup. Sitting right in the middle of the Department of Justice she ran her complicated network for forging documents and assisting with smuggling problematic individuals across international borders.

Colonel Pitre had taken their photos using an oddly shaped digital camera, gotten them to sign some documents and started the process somehow using the internet. Bucky had offered the passport pages from Rahc’s office. She scrutinized the pages with a jewelers loupe and also a magnifying lamp. They seemed to pass her test so they went into a package handed off to Reynard.

Now they had begun the harder work of discussing plan possibilities. Steve was easy, he only needed identification and a plane ticket. Bucky was a bit more difficult but she had something in mind.

A knock on the inner office door was followed by a text message to Colonel Pitre’s phone. She checked the video screen, flipped up the metal bar and then swiped something on her phone. The door buzzed and Reynard came in holding a manila envelope and some printouts.

Colonel Pitre took the envelope from Reynard and handed blue-jacketed passports out, one to Steve and one to Bucky. They were still warm from the lamination process.

“These are genuine passports, only your information and security coding is ‘unique’. You have realistic birthdates now also so Steve you are done. Reynard has your plane tickets.” She turned to Bucky and continued her conversation cutting Steve off in the middle of his thank yous.

Reynard came closer and sat at the table, sliding the printouts of itineraries and Q-codes to Steve. “Did you want them sent to your phone for paperless boarding passes?” Reynard was holding a smallish device with a large screen and a wide red strip on the top that was blinking slowly. “I can send it straight to your phone if you like.”

Steve was discussing the details with Reynard so he missed most of the plan for Bucky. Buck wasn’t looking too happy. Steve wondered if he would be in the hold for the flight or maybe clinging to the landing gear for yet another uncomfortable method of smuggling him out of the country.

+++++

Steve hadn’t seen him since they had left the hotel and headed out to the airport. Buck had left him at curb in the departures area of the Edmonton Airport. When Steve had turned to pay the cabbie, he had disappeared.

Expecting that, Steve just shouldered his bag and went to a kiosk to check in. This was going so smoothly. He was looking forward to a cup of coffee after he passed through the security line.

The cabbie had told them on the drive over here that there was a work slowdown by the airport security screeners. Everything was taking much longer than normal. Steve checked his watch, he thought he’d still make it.

An airline employee was walking around the kiosk area, “Sir, are you on Air Canada flight 1160 to London? I’ll need to take you out of line and over through here so you can make the flight. The security screening is delaying passengers from getting to the waiting area on time.” Steve wondered if this was part of the setup.

He followed the guy through a door marked ‘staff only’ and wondered where Bucky was now.

+++++

_“Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign. If you haven’t already done so, please stow your carry-on luggage underneath the seat in front of you or in an overhead bin. Please take your seat and fasten your seat belt. And also make sure your seat back and folding trays are in their full upright position."_

Somehow that was a familiar voice to his ears. 

_"Mesdames et Messieurs, le capitaine a allumé la Fasten Seat Belt signe . Si vous ne l'avez pas déjà fait, s'il vous plaît ranger votre bagage à main sous le siège en face de vous ou dans un compartiment au-dessus. S'il vous plaît prendre votre siège et bouclez votre ceinture de sécurité . Et également vous assurer de votre siège arrière et plateaux pliants sont dans leur position verticale .”_

Steve craned his neck out over the plane's centre aisle to see who was speaking.

Yep that was definitely Bucky's ass in a stewards uniform standing by the cockpit doing the flight announcements.

He had a black glove on his left hand, his hair done up in a neat man bun. Steve grinned to himself. Handsome lad that one.

This was a very good plan. Totally worth the cash and all the hassles. He just hoped that Buck wouldn't end up killing someone over the overhead bin space before they landed at Heathrow. 


	5. We should probably walk away, ‘Cause it always ends the same

Steve was flicking the tiny spoon handle sitting on the saucer under the tiny espresso cup in front of him. Hurry up and wait. He had thought he had left that behind in the army of the forties.

The bar they were sitting in was supposedly where Dick Turpin had hung out before he was hanged. Steve hoped that wasn’t an omen.

 “Not your phone.” Bucky pointed at the phone on the table near Steve’s cigarettes.

“Bucky, I ditched the old phone for this new one at the SIM card guy’s stall.”

“How much did he give you for it?”

“Five thousand.”

“You were ripped off.”

“Pounds. I’m not a complete idiot. That Azeri had expensive tastes. And I needed cash to spend.”

The phone kiosk guy in Chinatown had given him the side eye on the Azeri phone case. Natasha had warned him about using the phone so Steve offered it to the little old Chinese man as a trade. Steve guessed the gold phone was probably counterfeit or something but the guy went for it.

“I’m learning man. I’m a learner.” Steve quit flicking his spoon. He started to spin a heavy pound coin on its edge instead.

The ancient pub was around the corner from the contact location but they were early. A couple pints of Fuller’s would make Steve feel better.

Bucky had been searching the room for the contact. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Not here yet.”

Steve grinned, “Then we have time for a couple of pints. The espresso ain’t cutting it for me.” He stood up and started to move to the bar. Bucky grabbed his arm tightly as he passed him. “Shots. Vodka shots.”

“Sure thing Buck. Let me figure out this bar thing.” Steve wandered for a bit. The interior of the bar was a maze of little rooms and doorways. Bucky and Steve had been sitting off to the side at a table for two against the wall.

Steve found a bar with a bartender and pushed his way to the counter. He ordered two pints and a handful of shots.

Steve had held the shot glasses in his cupped palms and had the bartender set the pints on top. It was a challenge to get back without dropping the whole thing. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He ignored it while he was balancing the order back to their table.

Steve found his way back to Bucky. He smiled and slid the glasses on the table and said, “Pretty good for only eight fingers. Don’t even think I spilled any.” He handed a shot to Bucky and then picked up one himself. He slid onto his seat across from Bucky.

Bucky muttered something in Russian and downed his shot. Steve looked at him like he was crazy. Bucky repeated in a low voice, “Drink to the health of those who still have it.” Steve tossed back his shot and tried to look Bucky in the eye searching for where this was all coming from.

Steve piped up, “Here’s one I know. Stupid but there you go. If water was vodka and I was a duck. I'd swim to the bottom, and never come up. But, water is not vodka and I am not a duck. So sit the fuck down and drink the fuck up.” They drank.

Bucky took another shot glass for Steve and one for himself. He showed Steve his teeth. Then he raised the little glass to Steve, and said very clearly, “I'm so sorry for the bird.” They drank.

“I got one last one Buck.” Steve handed over a shot to him and then took the last shot glass for himself. He nodded to Bucky, leaned in close over the table. “Here’s to us. And who's like us? Damn few, and they're all dead.” They finished their shots and put the empty glasses on the table over with the others.

Steve pushed a pint over to Bucky. He took the other glass with his left hand. “Cheers man.” Bucky looked at him without blinking. They drank beers in silence for a bit. The sounds of the pub ebbed and flowed around them.

Steve’s new phone buzzed again on the table. They both looked at it in silence.  “Shit I guess I missed the first message.” Steve tapped the screen. “So, Buck, the text from Witanhurst says they’re ready for us. Guy is outside his office down the street in a silver Mercedes.”

Bucky didn’t answer, just turned and got up from his stool. He adjusted his gear, briefly tugged at the crotch of his pants, turned back to the table and finished off his pint. “Taking a piss.”

Steve shrugged, “Well, you only rent beer after all. Meet you outside on Highgate.” He waved his pack of smokes at Bucky’s retreating back.

Steve found his way outside and stood on the sidewalk just past the hedges of the patio, looking down towards the corner with a little red-doored church. He held his smoke cupped inside his bum hand against the breeze as he waited.

They were going to walk down and meet the contact. Steve had guessed that it was the Russians that were freaking out Bucky. He exhaled slowly.

If Buck was worried about this, Steve should probably be freaking out. “But we’ve seen worse.” He said to himself. “We’ve fucking seen much worse. This should be easy.”

Bucky was off a bit when he finally came out of the pub. Steve caught a glimpse of one glassy eye before Bucky turned away from him again. Buck said, “Walking.”

Bucky started to walk off down the street towards the manor house under construction. They could see the stacked shipping containers and the construction crane above the property brick wall. It seemed wildly out of proportion to the well-heeled neighbors’ homes and hedges.

Steve sighed, dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his booted toe. Shit. Buck was high.

+++++

The silver Mercedes was an S-class. Steve’s head was currently being held flat on the trunk by a guy who could only be described as solid. The guy was holding Steve’s head down and completely immobile with only one large hand covering the side of his face and ear. Steve was bent over the car watching a discussion that he couldn’t quite hear.

They were standing in an unpaved driveway large enough for two trucks to pass easily. The driveway opened up into a large cleared space and Steve could see a newish ramp leading down somewhere under the large building.

The shadow of stacked shipping containers being used as construction site offices fell over the parked car. There were building supplies and equipment stacked along the driveway. A constant stream of white vans into the site passing them on the left and heading down into the ramp.

Bucky was standing, seemingly relaxed, talking to the contact a little way away from the car. Bucky had one hand in his jacket pocket, talking to a thin guy in a light suit and fancy sunglasses. They hadn’t frisked Buck. Steve was a little irritated by that one. He had to submit to a weapons search that had left him feeling a little dirty.

The end result was his knives and a pistol piled up on the trunk next to his head. But he wasn’t going anywhere until Bucky was done. The big guy’s other hand was holding Steve’s arms behind his back, slightly up, putting harsh pressure on his shoulders and elbows.

Bucky’s arms were crossed over his chest and he was nodding. Thin guy was smiling. Thin guy patted Bucky on the arm. Then suddenly Buck came in close and surprised Steve completely by going in for three air kisses and a bro hug with the thin guy.

The big guy pulled Steve up from the trunk, patted him on the back with a heavy smack and ruffled his hair with one of his ham hands. Steve tried to stay upright. He found himself holding his knives as the big guy swept them off the trunk and into his hands. “Pardon.” The guy rumbled at Steve and a smile like a crevasse cracked his big moon face.

“Wait.” There was the big hand again. Steve leaned back against the car and motioned that he wanted to rearm. The big hand pushed him away from the car and the guy nodded. He brushed off the trunk with his jacket sleeve.

“I got it thanks, not against the car.” Steve straightened up and stashed his knives. He watched Bucky shake hands with yet another thick-necked guy in a leather jacket joining them here in this muddy driveway.

Steve tucked the pistol in the small of his back, waistband holster. He was still watching Bucky. They were all speaking Russian, laughing like old friends. But there was a tension in the air. They were ignoring him in that special Russian way once they found he didn't speak or understand anything they were saying.

Bucky hadn’t really explained what they were supposed to be doing here in this massive construction site in the middle of a wealthy residential neighbourhood. This couldn’t be a family home, it was just too fucking big. Maybe a hospital? Or a college?

Bucky had said it was a parcel or a pickup that Steve would take away. Bucky’d do an errand for the Russians and meet up with Steve later, probably outside of London.

Just then down the driveway from around the corner of the manor house construction site came a little white golf cart being driven by a girl in large round sunglasses, her hair up in a ponytail. Steve took a step back. All the tough guys nodded to her. Bucky stood still and leaned in when he was introduced to her. Interesting.

Bucky turned to him and waved him over. Steve checked with the big guy. He got a nod and thought he’d go with it. Steve walked over to Bucky and the golf cart. He saw when he got closer that the woman was much older than he had first thought. She looked at him, not removing her dark sunglasses, nodded and said in a low voice, “Wotcher gadgie.”

Bucky turned back to him and made the introductions and turned slightly between them, “Anoush. Steve.” She was expressionless behind the sunglasses. She said to both of them, “Areet hev a seat. I’m yor drivor the'da fo' yor trip tuh the basement.”

Steve got in the back. Bucky sat in the front with the woman. Steve said “Basement?” Anoush said, “Geet walla kip in London. Yas ganin tuh the basement.” She didn’t sound Russian. She sounded like a Geordie.

Steve sat back with the comforting feeling of his holster pressing against his back. He figured he was just along for the ride. Bucky sat stiffly as the golf cart hit every bump, his hand in his pocket, silent.

+++++

Anoush had asked Bucky to check in at the security office. The basement was the size of a good size shopping mall but none of this building was evident from the street. The parking lot had a few cars parked here and there. Some were under covers.

The golf cart was in a parking spot next to a Maybach, well, Steve thought that logo was a Maybach. He’d never actually seen one before. Anoush was tapping away on her phone. He could see Buck across the parking lot in the glassed in security booth next to the elevator.

Buck was being handed a black Kevlar vest. Then a shotgun. Then a folded up blue bundle of clothing. Boots off, he stripped down to briefs and put on a bike jumpsuit. He left the top down around his waist to put on the vest. Before he zipped up, the thick neck guy in the leather jacket cuffed him across the back of his head. Bucky left his head bent down.

There was talking. Then there was shouting. A different thin guy in a suit was shouting at Buck. Leather jacket had a gun in his hand. Steve flicked his eyes to Anoush. She was oblivious. He wished they were closer, he had agreed to do nothing except what Anoush asked him to do. He had to sit.

Bucky had been handed a small heavy looking black messenger bag and a set of leather straps. And he got another thwack across the back of his head from leather jacket.

Bucky set the shotgun and the bag on the desk and then took a step back. The thin guy handed him a cloth roll, and Steve thought it was, yes, yes it was, knives. Bucky bent forward, starting at his boot top working his way up, and the knives disappeared into the suit. Cloth got tossed back on the desk.

Bucky straightened up and slipped leather straps across his back, the bag over his head across his body, then holstered the shotgun straight down his back.

Leather jacket handed Bucky a dark motorcycle helmet and a pair of gloves then turned back to the guys in the booth. Thin guy clapped him on the back, then held his shoulders and said something. Bucky nodded. There was laughing from leather jacket and the thin guy. The men filed out of the booth. Leather jacket put a handgun back in his waist holster.

Bucky walked out of the booth towards a bike parked by the elevator. He put his helmet on and looked back towards where the golf cart was parked. Steve waved at him. Bucky turned back to the bike and put on his gloves.

Anoush looked up from her phone. “Yas ready tuh git the package?

“I’m picking up a package?” Steve knew that had to sound idiotic. “Haddaway man, you’re deliverin a package.” Anoush answered.

Steve heard the sound of Bucky’s bike roaring across the parking lot, back out and up the driveway.

“Yee ready Steve? Let’s gan.” She gracefully got out of the golf cart and started to walk over to the elevator. “Howay. That’s mental.”

He followed her to the elevator. He hoped this was an easy errand.


	6. With us bursting into flames

They must have thought it was hilarious that Steve was going to deliver that particular package. Anoush didn’t seem to know who he was but some of the other guys obviously did. He had heard the snide ‘kapitan Amerika’ from a group of thick-necked guys in hard hats sniggering at him from across the hallway when they got off the elevator.

Anoush led him across a glassed-in balcony bridge to what had originally been a large sitting room in the mansion. Now repurposed as an office, it was decorated in lush charcoal shades of grey with very modern chrome and dark leather furniture.

Two construction guys were sitting stiffly on an angular modern couch. Yet another suited thin blonde guy was standing next to an enormous vase by a tall window. He turned as he heard them approach. He smiled thinly at Anoush.

“I know it’s mental,” She started to say in her odd accent. He held up a hand to cut her off.

“Captain America, so nice to meet you.” Steve couldn’t decide if the guy was putting on an accent. Too many sibilant sounds in that sentence. The guy sounded like a snake hissing.

“We have a package for you to deliver for us. It will help us out immensely.” The thin guy gestured towards the uncomfortable guys on the couch. “Gentlemen?” They stood up. One guy wiped his hands on his workpants. Steve looked at them a little more closely.

They looked like construction guys, in boots and hoodies. The bald one was covered in dried plaster speckling his pants and shoes. The other one, with short grey hair, had glasses perched on his pointed nose. They nodded nervously at Steve. He kept his hands in his jacket pocket. They stayed silent. They stood very close together as if they were waiting for something bad to happen.

The suit spoke, “We need you to take these gentlemen to get some identification made. It should be a quick errand. Stanislav will go with you. You’ll need him once you get in.” The thin guy nodded to someone behind Steve.

A young guy stepped forward, looking like every other hipster in London with a knitted hat, beard, striped sweater and tight pants. He waved limply. Anoush waved and burst out with, “Me too!” Thin guy rolled his eyes. “Yes Anoush, and you also.”

“And where exactly are we going?” Steve asked, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Thin guy smiled thinly again, “To the US Embassy.”

Steve just looked at him. Right. What the fuck.

Thin guy continued on with his crazy talk, “You’ll be taking the bus with your little group. Anoush will show you where to catch the C2.”

“You kidding?”

“No.” The thin guy smiled for real this time. All teeth.

God these mobsters were fucking tiresome. No Mercedes S-class this time. Steve thought to himself. Let’s just get this over with.

+++++

The bus was crowed and it was a long ride. The ‘package’ guys turned out to be Polish and once out of the manor house gates they lightened up. They both sat with their backpacks on their laps and talked quietly for a bit back and forth in quiet tones, occasionally laughing at some private joke.

Stanislav and Anoush immediately were on their phones as soon as the bus started. Steve stood and stared out the window. Berkley Fields was their stop. He didn’t feel like sitting.

Steve wondered what Bucky was tasked with for the Russians. Had it been a shotgun or was it a rifle that Buck has strapped on in the parking garage. That motorcycle had looked good and sounded fast. Buck had always loved motorcycles.

Steve wondered what the mafiya thought he would be able to do for them on this run to the Embassy. He wasn’t an American any longer, he had come in the country on a Canadian passport.

The bus stopped and started, passengers got on and off. The accents and different languages of the passengers washed over him. Steve started to doze off standing holding on to a pole.

Someone bumped into him. He started and quickly grabbed at their hand, positive that they were picking his pocket. He opened his eyes and looked straight down into the startled eyes of a woman wearing a dark fabric veil over her head and face. Only her eyes were showing, looking at him through a slit in the fabric.  She was draped in fabric right down to the ground. She drew back from him, taking her gloved hand carefully from his grip.

The man with her, wearing a little cap and Arabic looking robes yelled harshly at Steve. He started to apologize. As soon as they heard him speak, heard the American accent, the man shrugged and walked away. She kept her eyes down and moved away.

Steve looked after them down the bus aisle. He noticed another woman standing next to a baby stroller. Her hair was covered like a nun, but covered with a coloured scarf wrapped tightly around her face and neck. She also was wearing long flowing clothes. Her face was bare but her ears were covered. It was fascinating. She had straight pins holding the multilayered fabric flat at her temples.

Stanislav leaned over, “Hey man.” He said in accented English. “Don’t cause a scene. They’re Muslims. You’ve not seen anyone wearing the niqab before?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think I’d remember that.” Steve stared back out the window. London seemed a lot different than the last time he was here. This bus was taking forever.

The bald Pole stood up. He was tall and thin, his head almost brushing the ceiling of the bus. He nodded to Steve. “Next stop.” His voice was so low, Steve barely caught it.

Stanislav nodded gestured to the exit doors. Anoush put her phone away in one of the pockets of her voluminous hoodie. The group moved slowly towards the bus doors.

Steve tried not to stare at the veiled ladies as he passed them. He thought he kind of liked the way the fabric draped over them. It was interesting anyway but didn’t seem all that practical.

They got off the bus and started walking towards the park. Steve stopped for a minute to light a smoke. Glasses shyly bummed one off him. When he had finished screwing around with his lighter, Anoush turned to Steve holding her hand out for his phone. He unlocked it and handed it over. She tapped in her phone number. “Here’s me number. So giz a ring will y'pet.” She gave his phone back and then took off in the other direction.

Bald guy took out a flattened pastry in a greasy little white paper bag from his backpack and ate it while they were walking. The other one held his smoke completely curled in his hand, hiding it. Smoking it right down to the filter.

Stanislav just wanted to discuss the plan.

+++++

The unassuming office block was across the street, kitty corner to the actual Embassy building with all its video cameras, security guards and traffic barriers, pat down searches and scanning machines.

Steve stuck his finger on the bell next to the glass building lobby entrance door. He was flanked on one side by Stanislav and on the other the two Poles. The speaker crackled. Steve leaned down and said at the speaker, “I’m here to get my fingerprints taken? Am I in the right place?”

The speaker squawked, the door buzzed and they all walked in.

++++

Steve hated elevators. He wished they could have taken the stairs. Four guys in a tiny brass railed and mirrored box was three too many. They only had to go to the third floor thankfully. The elevator doors opened and they followed the signs to office down a hallway with a dingy carpet.

The door of suite 302 was open. The waiting room was empty. A shitty radio plugged into an extension cord was playing a tinny pop station. There were some old magazines on a dinged table. Steve walked in and said “Hello?”

A plump sweaty black man in a rumpled uniform white shirt and black pants came around the corner from a room off the waiting area. He beamed at them and waved them to follow him back to a back room.

Stanislav stayed in the waiting area, sitting close to the hall to the back. Glasses was waiting. Steve and bald guy continued on to the back room with the uniformed man. In the back room, the guy stood in front of Steve and said “Right, so I need the fee please.”

Steve saw that his Iaminated D card had his name, Pearson. Bald guy reached into his backpack and pulled out a thick envelope. Handing it over, the Pole hesitated.

Pearson felt the envelope and said, “Great. Gentlemen you have 25 minutes before I’ll have to call the cops.” Smiling, he smoothly slid the envelope into his pants pocket. He turned and left.

Stanislav called to Steve from the hallway. “Let’s go. Call Anoush.”

+++++

Steve sat in front of the computer screens. He had the photo of the bald guy on the one screen, fingerprints on the other. He stood up and asked the glasses guy to put his fingers on the glass of a little scanner on the desk.

Steve pressed firmly on the guy’s fingers with his three fingered right hand. Working his way through fingers, then the thumbs, then the index finger alone. The computer beeped. Red. Careful repositioning. Pressing harder. Beep. Red. Dammit.

Again index fingers. Beep. Red. The guy said something in Polish. Anoush’s voice from behind him said “Howay Steve. He sez his fingertips got fucked up in the fire. Gan trying gadgie.”

Steve took a deep breath and started over. Beep. Yellow. And then finally green. The computer showed the full set of prints on the screen. Thank god. Right hand, glasses guy done.

Anoush was now sitting at the desk using the certification stamps to finalize some documents. “Print it oot please.” Steve hit the print button for the right hand prints. “Where’s the printer anyway?”

Anoush jerked her thumb at the hall. Stanislav reached over from where he was leaning and grabbed the paper, handing it back to Anoush. She stamped the paper carefully with one of the black stamps from the desk and then got a look of fierce concentration on her face. Hunching over the desk, she carefully signed the paper at the bottom with what Steve guessed was bald guy’s name.

The computer beeped at him. Green. Left hand, last thumb. Done. Print. Last guy done.

Stanislav was reading an old rugby magazing leaning against the doorframe and looking out occasionally at the waiting area. “Check your time people.”

“Should be canny good te gan fre coffee.” Anoush looked at Steve. He swiped his hand back over his forehead. Whatever.

The Poles were hauling alcohol wipes out of their backpacks and methodically wiping down the equipment. Anoush was tidying up the desk. Two fat envelopes stamped with official looking US Embassy marks were already back in the backpacks.

Steve stretched out his arms, turning his sore wrists. Why was this a necessary exercise? Anyone could have done this for them. Switched the guys’ prints and photos. What did he bring to it, who knows. Maybe just the Russians feeling like they needed some impenetrable Slavic joke while Bucky was off doing something potentially fatal and awful.

Pearson, the rumpled man, suddenly appeared in the hallway. “You better be done. Fuck off.”

“Leaving, nothing to see here.” Steve answered him, starting to move towards the door. “Thanks for your cooperation.” The group filed out the door. Just in time.

Just as Pearson’s ass hit the seat behind the desk, a woman took a number from the little red dispenser and sat down in the waiting room, clutching her ID and the sheaf of forms for getting fingerprinted.

+++++

Well that was thankfully over. Stanislav had shepherded the nervous Poles out the door and on to their next task, whatever criminal endeavour that was. Anoush and Steve were now in the café in the lobby of the fingerprint office’s building.

Steve had ordered an Americano. It was strong and bitter. He thought he liked it better than drip coffee. Damn coffee was pricy here though. He saw Anoush coming over, sunglasses on top of her head, ponytail swinging. “Anoush, coffee?” He called out to her.

“Wey aye pet!” She sidled up to him, cell phone in hand. “Back frem the nettie. So mint. Let's find tha guy fre yee. Yer Bucky.”

**Author's Note:**

> Steve's mission started in [Chain Gang.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4043149/chapters/9095344)


End file.
